


Reticence

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [100]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Johnlock Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 03:33:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5728138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>reticence: noun: RE-tuh-sens: A reluctance to express one’s thoughts and feelings.</p><p>From Latin reticere (to be silent), from re- (again, back), from tacere (to be silent). Earliest documented use: 1603.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reticence

**Author's Note:**

> I figured since this is our 100th word, a longer bit was needed. :)

Most would blame Sherlock's 'sociopathic' tendencies and his general aloofness towards people in general for the slowest beginning to a relationship in the history of the known world. They would be wrong.

John Watson, blogger extraordinaire, could describe a crime scene, and how his colleague flew around it, the way his eyes flashed, curls bounced and coat swirled to his audience of besotted followers, but when feelings for his flatmate burbled to the surface, his innate reticence took over and he shut it down. Time after time, he would disappear to his room after a case for a quick wank, or to the loo for a quick cold shower. If asked, he would admit that he'd always had leanings and yes, was Three Continents on both teams, mostly during his tours in Afghanistan, but it was understood, it was something that just happened. Part of it was his parents' reaction to his sister's pronouncement at 16 that she was a lesbian, and that she was not going to change. That went over well. He'd been 12, and their knee jerk reaction was to throw her out, lesson learned.

It was also just his nature not to share, or discuss emotions, it felt too 'therapeutic', too 'touchy-feelly' and to be honest, he was afraid that Sherlock wasn't the least bit interested in him. Yes, Sherlock treated him differently, but it was relative wasn't it?

Until that last case when John dislocated his shoulder and Sherlock managed to pop it back in place for him, and he caught a glimpse of his flatmate's concerned face. It wasn't the concern of a friend for an injured flatmate. The gentleness in his voice, asking for instructions, and the slight pause before the inevitable agonizing sound of the joint once again being snapped back in place, followed by the 'I'm taking him home, I can do whatever is necessary,' statement he threw at Lestrade as he gingerly put John into a cab, indicated something closer to love than John had ever encountered before.

After a cup of tea and paracetamol, and a makeshift sling was delicately applied, John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

"Sherlock?"

"Hmmm?"

"I, uhm, need to...damn..."

"Yes, John. The answer to the question you will never ask is yes. Yes, I am unreservedly, undeniably, head over heels in love with you. I know I erred that night at Angelo's, time and time again I wish I had responded differently to your obvious offer, but I didn't trust my instincts. I had just finished rehab, you were dealing with more baggage than I could ever deduce well enough...yes, John. God, yes."

John smiled and reached up with his good bad arm, to pull his flatmate into a kiss. Sherlock froze for a brief moment, only to smile against John's lips. "I have waited so long to know what you taste like, John. You taste better than I thought possible."

John laughed, a laugh that shocked both of them, as he wasn't big on laughter, a snort, now and then, the occasional smirk, but the bubble of uncontrolled mirth and joy that erupted from his lips was enough to make Sherlock's heart flutter and his brain crashed full stop.

"I need you, John. Now. You. My bedroom."

"You'll have to do most of the work I'm afraid..."

"I think I can handle it."

Sherlock gently scooped John into his arms and laid him on his Egyptian cotton sheets and efficiently divested his flatmate of his remaining clothing. He stopped, shook his head in astonishment and sighed.

"John - I always thought you were nicely made, but you are stunning, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the most gorgeous man I've ever seen."

"No. I'm not."

"You are."

John felt a tear making its way down his face and closed his eyes tighter. "Please, god, Sherlock. I need-"

"I know, love. Look at me, please."

John shook his head.

"John."

He slowly opened his eyes to see his flatmate and friend standing before him, fully undressed, completely and utterly aroused. "Sherlock, my god- you-"

"Are you sure, John? I need to know if you feel the same way, I've always thought there was a chance, but was afraid to hope, and I didn't want to presume-"

"I've, uhm, yeah, I'm terrible at this stuff. I don't know how to begin to tell you how I feel, just know that it isn't anything close to something definable, other than I, uhm, can't imagine my life without you in it."

Sherlock joined him on the bed and kissed him softly, and whispered, "Ditto."

The consulting detective spent the next three hours exploring and memorizing each and every inch of his blogger, only to start again, bringing him to the edge and yet not over until John begged for mercy. "Sher-"

"John?"

"Please?"

"There is no turning back, love."

"I know, please, I want you inside me."

"Are you sure?"

"I want nothing more than to feel you inside me-"

"God, stop talking-"

Sherlock watched John's eyes close and he pleaded, "I need to see your eyes, John, when I enter you, please?"

John nodded and stared deeply into Sherlock's blown eyes as he felt the head of his lean and lovely cock breach him. He swallowed, but kept looking into the eyes of the best man he'd ever known. "More," he whispered. "I want it all, love."

Sherlock nodded and pushed his way in, until he was fully seated. "Joh-"

"I know, my-"

"May I, please?"

"Yes, move-"

Together they rocked as one, until John felt Sherlock's breath stutter, and he reached for his own untouched cock. Sherlock managed to bat his hand away and replaced John's smaller hand with his own, long, calloused fingers, and after three strokes, John heard a voice that seemed to be coming from his mouth, but it was a voice he'd never heard before, full of love and bliss and almost could have been considered a prayer, if he had actually ever prayed before.

Sherlock followed seconds after in silence. But it was a silence of completeness, of finally being known by the only person he'd ever loved, a stillness he never thought he'd ever have, ever deserve.

As they came to, Sherlock's sweat drenched curls pressed against John's chest, John's legs and not so bad arm enveloped around Sherlock, they took a deep breath and blew it out together. There was nothing left to say, really, except, "I'm starving, John. I didn't realize love making made one so hungry?"

"Let me shower and run out and get some Indian?"

"Mmmmm, perfect."

"I-"

"I know."

"Let me say it, please?"

Sherlock nodded.

"I love you, my amazing man."

"And I, you, John. Go! I need extra naan, please."

"Git."

"Arse."


End file.
